Ein Psychologe erlebt das Konzentrationslager
by The Cool Zacharie
Summary: "Medic is like Pandora's box; You reeeeally want to know what secrets are inside, but the consequences could be dire. But seriously, does anybody really know who this guy is?" Rated M for future content and touchy subjects. Mild Scout/Medic.


(A/N; The title translation is "Man's Search For Meaning," taken from Viktor Frankl's work of the same name. This is the first fanfic I've written in a while, so forgive me if I'm not spot on. I've recently been submerged in the world of TF2, and I wanted to take a stab at writing for it. There is some touchy subject material (ex. Holocaust, WWII, related things), so be warned. I hope you enjoy otherwise.)

I can't recall when I began to develop feelings for the Doc. He always seemed so distant, so foreign, and I'm not just saying that because he's German. I can't put my finger on it, but there was something about the Doc that made him seem detached from the rest of us. Like, how he could be so happy spending time with us, but he retained some sort of sadness behind all the happy. The Medic was our base; The thing we all relied on, consciously or not. He kept us in shape, in mind, and as a team, not to mention patching us up when things got rough, but he never seemed to fall back on us when he needed it.

Sad, huh?

Poor guy never got a break. I ain't gonna lie, we did take advantage of him a lil bit. He ran himself ragged trying to help us all at once-Hell, I don't blame 'im, who do you fix first when all your friends are dying? I never understood how he could manage such a job; I guess I still don't understand. If it weren't bad enough, he did all the paperwork, too. Paperwork doesn't belong in war, sure, but we had some serious bills coming in, not to mention daily logs about victories. Medic was the only guy who would actually do the work, and with diligence; The rest of us couldn't be trusted to finish the crap. So, being the crappy teammates we were, we left him with all of it.

And you know what? I didn't feel bad about it.

Well, not in the moment at least. Now I do, looking back on it, he was clearly struggling with his own unhappiness, and we sure as hell didn't make it any easier. But in the moment, nah, son, I was havin' fun! I got to screw around with my team after a long day on the field, unwinding, relaxing, telling jokes and stories about home...

But Medic rarely joined us. And when he did, he never shared anything about himself. He was reserved and hidden, like he never had a problem hearing about us, but everything about him was a mystery. He was a German doctor, and that was the gist of it. He was the victim of rumours, Soldier was positive he was a Nazi-Hell, we all did, and looking back on it, it was a stupid assumption.

I spent many sleepless nights while I was in the desert. Doc always told me it was cause of all the Bonk! I drank, but I never listened. C'mon, that stuff's not bad for me! It keeps me going! But nevertheless, I didn't listen, and I didn't sleep. Once and a while I'd go for a trek around the base, night halfway through, most of the team asleep.

Most of them.

Medic was always the last one asleep. Sometimes I wondered if he ever slept at all; Sometimes it looked like he never slept at all. This night, he definitely wasn't getting to sleep. I wandered by his office, half asleep, catching a glimpse of the man through a crack in the open door. His back was turned to me in his chair, doves perched about his shoulders, head in hand, obviously distressed over something. Probably paperwork, I reasoned. Yet I stayed and watched him work, the soft scratching of the pen, the gentle cooing of the birds; It was soothing in the strangest way. He was muttering about his work, but he looked relaxed. He wasn't wearing his lengthy coat or his heavy backpack. To see Medic so tranquil, so at peace, it was like a bullet to the heart to what I saw.

His forearm was uncovered, his sleeves rolled up. The Doc raised his arm to pet one of his doves, and I saw the ink just above his wrist. A string of numbers and letters that could never be erased.

It all made sense.

The war had ended 18 years ago, when I was only 6. I had no idea how old the Doc was, but I had to guess around late 40s, which meant he was in the war when he was only in his 20s. My heart was caught in my throat-Doc survived World War 2! He wasn't a Nazi at all, he was a victim.

"Doc-" I have no idea what compelled me to walk into his room, but I did it anyway.

He stood up abruptly, startling his birds and sending them flying. I skittered back a few feet as he turned to me, his eyes wide. "Ach, Scout," he grumbled, realising it was just me. Sitting back down, he went on, "Do not scare me like zhat."

"Yeah, no, I...sorry," I tried to be apologetic.

"It's fine," he sighed, smoothing his hair back and sitting back down. "Anyvay, vhy are you here? It is late, you should be asleep."

"If I could, I would be doin' jus' that," I snorted. An irritated glare said I wasn't doing myself any favours. "Look, Doc, I can't sleep."

"Vhat have I told you every time, Scout?"

"Don't tell me what I can 'n can't drink!" I barked.

Medic sighed softly, holding his head in his hands. "Vell, I can't help you, zhen."

"Look, look, I'm sorry," I said again. "I'm...just frickin' tired."

"You are not zhe only one," he answered, glancing back at me.

"I said sorry," I said, trying not to come off as irritated as I was. "Doc, why do you do this to yourself? I mean, I got a reason, but hell, you gotta sleep too."

"Someone has to," he replied. "Ozherwise, business vill be vorse."

"Yeah, but can't someone else do it?"

"Nein."

"Why not?"

"Do you really zhink somebody will actually take responsibility for zhis, Scout?"

I paused for a moment, both of our eyes holding the cold stare he cast. "Look, Doc-"

"Nein, bitte."

"Doc, c'mon-"

"No, Scout. Zhat is all." The German scooted his chair away from me, back to his desk.

"...so, what's on your arm?" I must've been pretty exhausted to have asked this, because it was downright stupid. The doctor practically flew out of his chair, turning to me and glaring down the bridge of his nose, his ice cold eyes livid.

"Do not breath a vord about it Herr, if you know vhat is gut for your health."

I swallowed nervously, "Er-yeah, totally."

"Gut," he muttered, shooing me out the door. "Gute nacht." Slamming the door behind me, he left me in darkness, practically blinded by the shadows. By that time, my head reeled faster than a car wheel; I was too tired to stand.

I must've passed out, at least that's what I've reasoned, cause the only thing I remember about that night is falling asleep on my feet. I woke up fuzzyheaded, swaddled in a blanket with a pillow beneath my head. This was definitely not my room; Usually I thrash so much I wake up halfway from my bed rather than in it. I'm a restless sleeper, okay? Don't judge, man.

"Ahhgg-" I rubbed my eyes, drinking in the dim light of the room. Those flickering lights, the smell of bleach and morphine... Infirmary. Panic rose in my chest, hands scrambling to remove the blanket-no organs removed, no surprise surgery. "Wha-"

"Guten morgen," came the Medic's voice, thick with the weight of sleep deprivation. He wheeled over in his spinny chair to the cot where I laid, obviously tired.

"Wait, no!" I barked. "Why'd you take me back after you kicked me out?!" My hands clenched the blanket as if I was a baby holding onto a lifeline. This man was a mystery, and an unpredictable one at that. Who knows what he could've done to me in my sleep?

"Relax," he mumbled tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I heard you collapse last night and I did not vant to leave you out zhere in zhe hall. People might have tripped over you."

"Great, thanks," I snorted.

"Would you prefer it if I had left you?" Medic asked dryly, staring at me in the most unimpressed manor I'd ever seen.

"What, no!"

"Zhen don't assume I am always zhe bad guy," he said. "You of all people should know zhat now."

"What're y-" Oh shit. Dammit, I had forgotten until now.

"Ja." The doctor sighed, rolling up his sleeve and ghosting his fingers over his forearm. "Do not tell anybody, rabbit, or I will not hesitate to sever your jugular."

A short gag caught in my throat as he said so. "Y-yeah."

"Gut, we are understanding," he said with a chuckle that I didn't like the sound of.

"Doc, why are you keeping this from us?" I asked, trying to sound concerned instead of angry. "I mean, c'mon, everyone always assumes the worst!"

"Vhy do you zhink Heavy and I are such gut freunde?" Medic asked. "Both of us are judged by our country's mistakes. You call him "Commie" and me "Nazi." Now tell me, how is zhat fair? We are human first, and heritage comes second."

I was speechless. Seeing Doc this way, so broken and lost, it was...really sad. I always thought of him as the mad doctor who took all of us and put birds in out chests (don't remind me), but he looked so wounded. We really had hurt him, and he just never told us.

"H..Heavy, too?" I asked softly.

"Mm."

"...ouch."

"Mhm."

My big mouth had gotten me into enough trouble already. I bit back several responses I could've flung-I would've flung, but the sensible side of my brain told me I had done enough damage by now.

"S...orry," I mumbled. "Sorry. Doc." Words came out in short bursts, I could barely spit them out.

"Okay." The older man sighed again, turning his back to me. "Entschuldigung."

"Wha..?" I probably sounded like a total jackass, but I_ do not speak German_.

"Sorry," he repeated. "You did not know. It is okay."

"A..about th-"

A curt nod silenced me. So unusual, to be the one lost for words. Most of the time I can spit out whatever crap comes to mind, but this time, I knew I was treading on land mines. I had already hurt the guy enough, I figured.

"Did you, like," I scrambled for something to fill the awkward silence with, "g..give me your bed?"

"Hmm." The doctor nodded again.

"Th..thanks," I said softly. "But where'd you sleep, then?"

"I did not."

Oh come on, now it almost felt like guilt tripping. "..thanks, Doc," I repeated. My lips curled into a soft smile, hopping out of the cot and slowly trotting up to his side. "You...you should get some rest now, right?"

"Vork," he mumbled. "We have vork to do."

"Nah, nah," I cut him off. "Look, I'll tell everyone you were up doin' the paperwork and that you'll be a lil late to breakfast, capice?" I rested my hand on his shoulder, causing him to glance back at me.

"...if you insist," he said, too tired to argue.

"Atta Doc," I teased, giving him the softest punch I could muster. It must've not been very soft, cause he grunted in annoyance. "I'll leave ya be."

"Danke."

That was all I caught as I left his room.


End file.
